


In Regards To Love

by Sandyclaws68



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Marriage, happy afterlife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: A series of scenes detailing different expressions of love: confessing it, developing it, realizing it, offering and accepting it, as well as fulfilling its promise.





	1. Ed & Winry

The train had been delayed nearly three hours due to a mechanical problem when they were barely forty minutes outside of Central.  Everyone on board had been given the option of a full refund and a special return to the city, but Ed was eager to get home and figured a delay of a few hours was better than one that would amount to a day, at least.  Nearly three months worth of research in the West District had left him mentally exhausted and physically wrung-out and all he wanted was to get home.  A few of Granny Pinako’s tantilizing home-cooked meals wouldn’t go amiss either.

Of course sinking his teeth into some of that home cooking meant facing the reality of the embarrassing, cringe-inducing conversation he had had with Winry before leaving Resembool.

_ Equivalent exchange!  You give me half of your life and I’ll give you half of mine. _

_ Geez!  Why are you alchemists like this?  Half a life. . . I’ll give you all of it! _

Even three months later the memory brought a flush to his cheeks.  He knew, all too well, what his original statement had sounded like.  And he wasn’t opposed to the idea of marrying Winry, far from it; he just wished that he had gone about asking in a better way.

The sun had long set; the night air cool on his face as he walked home.  He was glad that Winry had received his message about the late train, but he fully expected to find her awake and waiting at the house.  Maybe tinkering with a new automail design or something to improve the functioning of his leg. He smiled at the image that sprang to mind; Winry, strands of hair escaping her long ponytail, a smudge of grease on one cheek, surrounded by the nuts, bolts, and screws of her profession.  It would hardly be the first time he had seen her in that condition.

At the next rise in the road the house came into view, causing a sigh of relief.  Back in the so-called old days - when he still had his automail arm - Ed would have made the walk from the station to the Rockbell house while lugging a heavy suitcase without breaking a sweat.  His natural arm was nowhere near as strong or durable; he stopped at the end of the drive for a quick breather before walking on.

He was halfway to the house when Den came running from his spot on the porch with a joyous greeting. Ed managed to cut off the dog’s barking after just two, but lights came on in the main room as he was admonishing the animal.  The front door creaked as it was opened and a voice called out. It was not, however, the one he expected.

“ Ed, is that you?”

He jogged the last few yards and took the porch steps in two large bounds, dropping his suitcase to enfold Pinako Rockbell in a hug.  When he released her and stepped back Pinako looked him up and down, brow creased.

“ You’ve lost weight,” she declared.  “Get inside and I’ll warm up what’s left from dinner.”

Ed had to laugh at that, swinging an arm around her shoulders as they entered the house.  “You have no idea how happy I am to be home,” he declared.

The plate of warm food had just been set in front of him when the door of the kitchen opened and Winry stood there, hair loose and disheveled and rubbing sleep out of her eyes.  She didn’t say anything, just crossed the room to sit beside Ed, leaning against his side with a yawn. He smiled down at the mess of wheaten hair that was all he could see of her and chuckled when he met Pinako’s gaze.

“ Don’t keep her up,” the Rockbell matriarch stated.  “She’s been working a little too hard lately.” Her gaze softened.  “I think she’s been trying to distract herself during your absence.”  She stood and left the room, looking back once with a fond smile creasing her face.

Ed finished his meal, eating carefully so as not to disturb Winry who had, apparently, fallen back asleep.  When he was done he shifted his shoulder, jostling her slightly, then chuckling at her half-angry groan.  “Winry.”  He shifted his shoulder again.  “Come on, get up so I can wash my dishes.  Then you can go back to bed, I promise.”

With a few unintelligible words – which were presumably an affirmative – Winry moved away just enough to allow Ed to rise to his feet and make his way to the sink.  He made quick work of cleaning his dishes and turned around as he dried his hands.  Winry had put her head down on the table, and he shook his head, stepping across the room to take hold of her elbow and gently tug her to her feet.

“Okay, let's go,” he said.  “It's past both our bedtimes.”

Winry sleepily nodded and allowed Ed to guide her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the largest bedroom, one that had belonged to her parents.  The bed clothes were mussed and rumpled, evidence that she had been sleeping before his arrival.  He sat Winry in the armchair she usually read in and went to straighten the sheets.  When he was finished he looked back her way, surprised to find her eyes wide open and trained on him.  “What?” he asked, half laughing.

“You're back; you're home.”  She sounded almost surprised despite the fact that they had been in close proximity for the last hour or so.  “I'm so glad,” she whispered, crossing the room to take hold of one of his hands before sitting on the bed.  Their eyes met, and Ed was taken aback by the directness in Winry's blue gaze.  “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Winry -”

Her cheeks flushed a bright red.  “Not. . . not like that,” she stuttered out.  “Just. . .  You were gone so long, and Al is gone, and it was lonely, and I -”  She swallowed hard.  “Please?  I just want to know you're there while I sleep.”

Although he was still worried about how Granny Pinako would react Ed couldn't deny Winry.  He had also been lonely during the three months he was away from home, so he could understand the need to reconnect in some way, especially in light of the way they had left things between them at the train station.

“Okay,” he finally replied with a nod.  “Let me just have a shower and get some things and I'll be back.”

Not quite half an hour later Ed returned to the bedroom, hair still damp from his shower.  Winry was curled up on top of the bedclothes, struggling to stay awake.  She seemed to want to talk, despite her obvious exhaustion.  “Come on,” he said, cajoling.  “Under the covers.”

She shifted on the bed, just enough to pull the blanket and sheets free, then slid under them.  Ed followed, the cool, crisp cotton soothing on his shower-warmed skin.  He moved onto his side to face Winry, smiling at her as he did.  “I feel like I need to apologize to you for our last conversation,” he whispered.  “It. . .  It wasn't how that subject should have come up.”

“Did you mean it?” Winry asked, reaching over to push hair out of Ed's eyes.  “As long as you meant it you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I meant it, but. . .  Well, you deserve better than an awkward former state alchemist who can't even ask the woman he loves to marry him without -”

A soft finger was pressed to his lips, stopping the flow of words.  “If you recall I wasn't exactly the best at accepting, either,” Winry said with a chuckle.  “You and I are not meant for romance, it would seem.  Love, yes, but not the hearts and flowers that go with it.”

“Well, the love came naturally to us, so I guess we have to work at the romance part,” Ed replied, laughing in turn.  “How about you start by telling me why you love me?”

A bright red flush chased across her face.  “I. . .  I can't do that!  It's. . .  I mean. . .”  She covered her face with her hands.  “It's not easy to put into words.”

“Try.”

With an exasperated sigh Winry dropped her hands away from her face.  “You're stubborn.  Tenacious to the point of madness.  You're always convinced that you know best and can't acknowledge it when someone proves you wrong.  You're -”

Ed held up a hand.  “Whoa, whoa!” he laughed.  “That sounds more like a list of things you hate about me!”

Winry rolled onto her back with a disgusted huff, putting some distance between them.  “Well then you try it!  Why do you love me?”

“That's the easiest question to answer,” Ed whispered, reaching across the space between them to take her hand.  “You put me back together.  And I don't just mean this -”  He rapped on his left leg with his knuckles, the metallic sound harsh in the otherwise silent bedroom.  “You've always been there, even when I didn't know that I needed you.  Your caring and compassion pieced me back together physically, mentally, and emotionally.”  He grinned as a flush brightened her cheeks.  “Maybe we're not so hopeless at that romance stuff after all, huh?”

With a sniff that sounded suspiciously teary Winry burrowed against his chest.  “Idiot!” was muffled against him.

Ed wrapped his arms around her and held her close, rubbing his cheek on the soft hair on top of her head.  “Yeah, sometimes I am.”


	2. Al & May

the towers of the main palace of Xing came into view, shimmering slightly in the summer heat, Al had to suppress the urge to sigh in relief.  He knew from the experience of past trips that he still had a good three hours of travel before he could consider himself home, but that didn't prevent the lifting of his spirits.  This last journey had been one of the longest he had undertaken since first setting out on his quest of discovery and he was eager to get back to his friends and surrogate family in the palace.  He was especially eager to learn if additional letters from his brother had arrived in the interim.

The letter he had received shortly prior to setting out for a remote area of southeastern Xing had been a huge shock, but postponing the trip was an impossibility at the time.  Still, the words on that piece of paper had been a massive jolt:

_ ENGAGED!  Will give you plenty of notice once we set a wedding date! _

It had been signed by both Ed and Winry, and Al could not prevent his jaw from dropping when he read it.  Ling had laughed at his expression, snatching the letter from his hand to read for himself.

“Well, your brother never does things by half-measures, does he?” had been Ling's only comment.

That had been just over four months ago, and more than anything Al wanted to be greeted by more letters, hopefully with more details.  A part of his brain was also going over what he would need to take with him, as well as how long it would take to get to Resembool in time for the wedding once he knew when it would take place.  Whether or not to make his return permanent was another question he had been turning over since receiving that first missive.

He didn't want to return permanently; not yet, at least.  There was still so much that he could learn from the cultures of the Eastern lands, and his use of alkahestry was still marginal, at best.  And the least said about his efforts to combine alchemy and alkahestry the better.

There was one other reason why he wasn't ready to leave Xing, but it was something he avoided acknowledging with his head.  His heart, on the other hand. . .

When he finally arrived at the palace he was greeted by a message requesting that he attend upon the imperial successor as soon as possible.  It was the standard wording for such a summons; luckily Al knew Ling well enough to understand that he could take his time with a bath and some food before presenting himself.

He was unraveling the voluminous headcloth that had provided protection from the sun and sand on his journey while opening the door to his quarters.  The light colored cloth covered his eyes for one crucial moment and he staggered under the impact as another body slammed into his, arms wrapping around his chest and trapping the fabric and igniting a measure of panic in his heart.

“Alphonse!”

He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he heard that voice.  “May, let me go so I can get this thing off,” he replied, words muffled.  The arms around him loosened just enough and he scrambled to free himself from the voluminous fabric.  Once his head was free he smiled down at the young girl who was his teacher, mentor, and best friend.  “I'm home!” he exclaimed with a grin, reaching out with one hand to squeeze May's shoulder.

“Welcome ba-” May began before the words abruptly ended as her mouth dropped open.

Al had turned away to set his bag on the bed but turned back at the choked off words.  “May?  What's wrong?” he asked, noticing the heightened color in her face and the sudden unevenness of her breathing.

“Hair. . .  You. . .”  She gave her head a shake, slotting words into their proper order.  “Your hair!”

“Oh.  Yeah, I guess it's gotten a little long,” Al replied, pushing a hand through the shoulder-length strands before making a face at the grungy feeling.  “And it's filthy.  I really need a bath before I report to Ling.”

May shook her head again, trying to straighten her still-stuck-on-long-haired-Al brain out.  “I've already had the staff prepare one for you,” she said, ducking her head so their eyes didn't meet.  The flush was still visible on her ears, though.  “They’ll also be bringing a meal shortly, and Ling will just have to wait.”  She bowed, the movement lacking her usual grace, before continuing.  “I’ll return in an hour,” she commented, before running out of the room as if the devil himself was on her heels.

An hour later Al – now clean and feeling roughly one hundred and thirty-five per cent better – sank onto the cushion beside the low table where the palace servants had set the meal.  HIs stomach growled impatiently and he quickly tucked in, savoring the fresh fruit after months on the road with only dried meat and nuts.  He was still bemused at May's behavior, but the experience of years in her company had taught him not to push.  If she wanted to talk she’d come to him in her own time

It was when he reached for the cup of water mixed with wine that he noticed the thick packet of letters, tied with an orange ribbon, that was sitting on the table.  He picked it up, curious, and was so focused that he didn’t even hear the door open.

“The orange ribbon means that it’s someone’s personal correspondence,” May quietly spoke in the quiet of the room.  “It’s all non-diplomatic.”

“Personal. . .”  Al’s voice trailed off as he realized the significance of the pile.  He quickly untied the ribbon and began sorting through them, looking for the one with the most recent postmark.  When he found it he felt a brief surge of disappointment, followed by worry, that it was clearly Winry’s handwriting.

“What’s wrong?” May asked as she sat on the cushion opposite him.

Al shook his head and held up the letter.  “This one is from Winry, and knowing my big brother. . .”

“He didn’t write it because he broke his arm in some sort of crazy accident?” May put in with a laugh.  Al grinned at her in understanding; she knew Ed just as well as anyone.

“You have to admit it’s a possibility,” he replied as he tucked a finger under the flap to break the wax seal.  It took barely a moment to scan the contents, and then he started to laugh; loud, long, and heartfelt.  Then he passed the letter over the table to May.  He face blanched as she read, and then she shakily got to her feet.

“You'll need to leave within the week to make it home in time,” she stated, sounding stiff.  “I'll speak to Ling about arranging a suitable escort,” she concluded, tossing the letter on the table.  The only thing written on the paper was a date just over one month in the future and Winry's signature.

Al didn’t bother to respond, or protest the offer of an escort.  He got to his feet and moved around the table, snatching an unsuspecting May up with his arms around her waist and whirling them around, ignoring her alarmed cries. As soon as he set her back on her feet he turned away, brain churning with all of the things he’d need to do and prepare before he could leave.  “I'll need some help to get organized in time; can I count on you?”  He glanced her way, shocked at the sudden presence of tears in May's eyes.  “What's wrong?” he asked, turning back to face her and taking a hand in his.  “May?”

She blinked rapidly, lifting her face to stare at the ceiling in an effort to keep the tears at bay.  She was mostly successful, but a quiet sniffle betrayed her in the end.  “I don't. . .” she began, swallowing hard before she could continue.  “I know you have to go.  I mean it's not every day that your only brother gets married, but. . .”  She sniffled again and couldn't continue.

But her words had been enough of a clue, and Al smiled as he stood before her, taking both hands in his.  “Did you think I was going alone?” he softly asked.

May scoffed.  “Of course you're not going alone; Ling will ensure you to have an escort and it'll include someone to attend the ceremony in his stead.”

“That's not what I meant.”  He slid his hands up her arms, across her shoulders until he could cup her face between them.  “I have no intention of going home to Resembool without you.  I have no intention of ever attending a wedding without you.”

Her eyes widened.  “Al. . .” she breathed.

“In fact, I have no intention of doing anything else in my life without you,” he continued, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close.  “I may be young, but I know what I want.  So, May Chang, Princess of the Chang Clan, will you go home with me?”  He pulled back so their eyes could meet but continued to hold her.  “Will you be my home?”

As first kisses go what followed was definitely memorable.


	3. Riza & Roy

“Sir, the cleaning crew is here.  It's definitely past time to go home.”

Roy waved one hand in a vague gesture of acknowledgment but didn't move from his desk.  Since his promotion to brigadier general the workload had only increased, and particularly after being placed in command of the Eastern Sector.  He knew that the people under his direct command could take up some of the slack, but if he had one great weakness as a leader it was the trouble he had delegating.  Even to such a supportive and skilled officer as his long-time adjutant, now Major Riza Hawkeye.

Who was currently glaring at him over the pile of files in her arms.  Then she grimaced and moved around the desk, dropping the files into the designated “In” box before snatching the one he held out of his hands.  “You have four sergeants who are assigned as your administrative and clerical staff,” she stated with a derisive snort.  “This -”  She waved the documents under his nose.  “- is something they should be handling.”

“I know, but -”

“These -”  Riza laid one hand on the stack on the desk.  “- are priority reports that need your personal attention.”  She smacked his hand when he reached for the topmost file.  “Priority as in tomorrow morning.  After you go home and get a decent night's sleep.”

Roy finally looked up at his adjutant, feeling his eyes widen in surprise.  “You cut your hair short again.”

Riza sighed.  “Yes, I did.  Three months ago.”

“Oh.  Did I not notice then?  I'm sorry.”

“No, you did, but. . .”  She pushed a hand through her short hair.  “You have a lot on your mind; it's understandable there might not be room for my hair.”

Roy rose to his feet, touching the back of her hand.  “I always have room for you Lieu- I mean Major.  We've been together long enough that you feel like a permanent part of me.”

Riza's face flushed bright red and she averted her eyes.  “We need to get going, General.  The cleaners hate adjusting their routine to your presence.”

For a moment he looked like he was about to argue, but then Roy simply nodded and gathered together his things.  He took his greatcoat of the rack and slid into it, aware of his adjutant's hands on his shoulders as she smoothed the fabric.  “Riza. . .”

Her hands froze in their movement for the briefest second before continuing their task, running down his arms, twitching the coat's sleeves at his wrists.  She didn't respond to his use of her name, and Roy felt disappointment burn in his gut.  He knew it was maybe one intimacy too much, but they had known each other since Riza was a teenager and sometimes the constant formality of their working relationship was emotionally exhausting.

And, with the startling clarity of a sudden realization, Roy understood that he didn't want a strictly working relationship anymore.  They had long been close; always in sync, professionally at least.  The events in which he had lost, then regained, his eyesight had pushed them even more, each into the other's orbit, and now he felt adrift when he didn't have her with him.  Riza was the center of his universe, and it was past time that he did something to acknowledge that fact.

The only question was how could he ever express everything to her.  Especially as she left the office ahead of him, proceeding down the corridor with her head held high and her walk confident.  Like she didn't need anybody.  He could do little but follow as they left the building.

Once outside in the chill night air she shivered slightly, pulling her coat collar in close to her neck.

“Are you cold?” Roy asked.  “You shouldn't walk home; let me get you a cab -”

A hand on his arm stopped the flow of words.  “I'll be fine.  The chill was just a surprise after the warmth inside.”  She looked up at him with a smile.  “I like to walk home, especially after spending a day cooped up in a stuffy office.”  She did up the buttons of her greatcoat, shoved her hands in the pockets, and started off towards her home.

Roy would have normally caught a cab, but after his epiphany in the office he wanted to be with her just that much longer, so he set off, quickly catching up.  Riza cast a surprised, sideways glance his way but then relaxed at his presence.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, breaths misting in the chilled air.  Riza's hair turned to burnished gold with each streetlamp they passed beneath, reverting to its normal ash blonde between.  Her eyes glinted with a touch of humor, and the tiny smile flirting with her lips spoke of more.  “You know,” she finally spoke, “I can't remember the last time you walked me home.”

“Probably when I was studying with you father and you were still in high school,” Roy replied with a huff of laughter.  Then he stopped walking.  “That was quite a while ago.”

“It was.”  Riza had stopped in her turn, just a step or two ahead of him, and reached a hand back.  Roy took it in his and they continued on, hands warmly clasped together.

“Your father hated it when I took time out from my studies to walk you home from school,” he mused.  “He always told me I shouldn't waste my time on something so inconsequential,” he concluded before sucking in a breath in shock.  “Oh shit!  I can't believe. . .  I'm sure he didn't mean. . .”

Riza squeezed his hand and gave her head a shake.  “It's not your fault, sir.  I know very well what my father thought of me.”  A phantom pain from the tattoo on her back made her hunch her shoulders.  “You always did what you could to protect me from all of that, and in the end you saved me from the remnants of his malice.”

Roy flinched and didn't respond.  He was still haunted and sickened by his memories of “rescuing” Riza from her father's last hateful act; the smell of burnt flesh as he used his controlled flames to deface the tattoo on her back was not something he could ever forget.

“Hey,” her soft voice called to him, and when he met her eyes she smiled.  “I asked you to do it, remember?  You need to stop hating yourself for it.”

“I want to, but it's hard,” Roy whispered in response, tightening his grip on her hand.  “It's the worst part of myself, and every time I look at you I'm reminded of what I did to the woman I -”  He bit off his words, feeling heat climb his face and across his ears.  “Well, it's not the easiest thing to forgive, is it?  Even when it's forgiving myself.”

Riza shook her head.  “I'm not going to pretend I understand, but I'm also not going to argue with you.”  She stepped close, close enough that Roy could smell the faint, damp-wool scent of her greatcoat overlaid with the citrus notes of her shampoo.  “Your feelings are yours, and I would never overstep that boundary.”

Those words, while meant to comfort, were almost like a knife to his heart.  “What if I want you to?” Roy asked.  “What if I want both of us, together, to leap across that boundary?”

“What, exactly, are you trying to say?”  When he didn't answer right away she spoke one final, quiet word.  “Roy?”

He exhaled a quiet sigh.  “We've been with each other for so long, always so careful to keep to the rules, stay within bounds, do what everyone expects of us.  Isn't it past time we do what we want?”

A gentle smile curved her lips.  “You're assuming we both want the same thing.”

Roy's face blazed and he tried to pull away.  “I. . .  You. . .”  He growled softly under his breath.  “Jesus, I'm sorry.”  He tried to remove his hand from hers.  “I'll let you go, and -”

Riza's hand tightened around his.  “I never said the assumption was wrong.”  And then she tilted her chin up and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, grinning as he all but recoiled in shock.  But she refused to let him go, and when she tucked their entwined hands into the pocket of her coat Roy didn't resist.


	4. Lan Fan & Ling

The sound of clashing metal was loud in the corridor, the discordance pronounced as soon as the heavy wooden door separating the family wing of the palace from the guard's training yard swung open.  Ling slipped through, hoping to avoid being noticed too quickly.  He had a duty to perform, but it was one that he wished could be avoided for a little longer.  But more than any other group of palace staff the guards needed to know what was going on, so with a deep breath he girded himself to the unpleasant task.

The sound of him clearing his throat was barely audible over the rest of the noise in the yard, but everyone immediately ceased all their sparring and filed into neat, even rows, all facing him. And off to one side, dark hair piled messily on top of her head and the scythe-like blade on her automail arm retracted, stood Lan Fan, who had been instructing this particular group of guard recruits.  When their eyes met Ling felt himself tense before exhaling a shaky breath.

“I, uh. . .  I have some news that you all need to hear,” he began, hating that the brief verbal stumble betrayed his nervousness.  “The emperor -”  The sound of everyone in the yard snapping to attention interrupted him.  “The emperor has suffered a stroke and is unconscious for the time being.”  He took a deep breath.  “The doctors are not willing to make any statements regarding his chances of survival but they expect that he will be incapacitated for some time when he regains consciousness.  The Imperial Council has met and authorized me to assume the powers of regent for the foreseeable future.”

There was some murmuring amongst those gathered, but none of it had a negative tone.  Ling let it go on for a while, knowing that if the guards didn't get things off their chests now they'd only do it later, behind the backs of their officers and himself.  It was better done in a public setting, when he could answer questions that might come up.

But none did, and the murmurs died down with a few exchanged nods.  As one all of the gathered recruits turned back to him and saluted, which Ling acknowledged with a slight smile.  With a gesture Lan Fan dismissed the group, giving them the rest of the day off but with a reminder of the next day's training schedule.  As soon as they were alone in the yard she approached Ling, bowing when she was within arm's reach.

“Lord,” she addressed him as she rose from her bow.  Then her direct gaze met his.  “How bad is it, truthfully?”

“You think I lied to the recruits?”

She shrugged.  “Not intentionally.  More like. . .  not telling the whole truth?”

Ling laughed, although with very little humor.  “How is it that you always see right through me?”

“Years of experience, Lord?  Maybe too many.” Lan Fan replied with an answering grin.  Then she quickly sobered. “But you need to stop trying to evade my question.”

With a sigh Ling turned away to leave the yard, nodding his head to get Lan Fan to follow him.  Back inside the palace he started to speak.  “It's bad,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.  “I didn't lie when I said the doctors are unwilling to speculate about his chances, but from a few things that were said I gather that most of them don't expect he'll ever regain consciousness.”

“So the Emperor is dying.”  She glanced sidelong at him.  “You're doing more than assuming the regency.”

He held his hands out in a  _ Who knows? _ sort of gesture.  “That depends on who you're talking to,” he commented.  “The Council is taking the optimistic view, encouraged by the older doctors that have been consulted.”

“Optimistic, or deluded?”

“I'll not commit to either adjective.”  When Lan Fan snorted Ling stopped walking, catching the cool metal of her left hand in his.  “I'm serious.  This is a delicate situation, and I need to navigate my way through it with more care than anything else I've ever done in my life.”

“You're the designated successor!” she protested.  “What will the Council do if you don't tread carefully?  Choose someone else?”

“They'd be within their rights to do so, especially if they view any of my behavior as contrary to the image they want projected to our citizens.”  He tugged on the ends of his hair where it was bound in the usual ponytail.  “The generation gap between them and us is a lot wider than I think people realize.”

Lan Fan nodded, having  experienced that gap first hand in her work with training guards and recruits.  “Well, I should probably get on with my other duties,” she said, stepping away from Ling and bowing.  “Lord.”

“Wait!”  Ling's hand caught her wrist and held her in place.  “There's. . . uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about.”  He released her hand and scratched his nose.  “If you can spare the time.”

A half-smothered laugh was the response.  “You have the right to order me to spare the time, Lord,” Lan Fan replied after a few moments.

Ling shook his head.  “Not for this conversation, I don't,” he averred.  He laid a hand on Lan Fan's back and stirred her toward the closest room, a weapons storage closet.  “This isn't business; it's more. . . personal.  And needs to be kept as quiet as possible until. . .”  He closed the door and shrugged, a gesture that filled in the missing words quite eloquently.

Something that needed to be kept quiet until he ascended the imperial throne.

Lan Fan stood silently, waiting for him to speak.  She watched as he fidgeted, head bowed and hands rubbing against each other.  A flush started to climb his cheeks.  She managed to avoid starting when he reached out and took both of her hands in his.

“Well, you see, the thing is I want to make one major change when I become Emperor, and I'm a little worried about how people will react.”  He finally looked up and met her eyes.  “The system that has been in place for so long – taking one wife from each clan – has resulted in hatred and rivalries that have, on a few occasions, brought us to the brink of civil war.  It's time for there to be one wife, one mother to the children, and one clear successor.”  He squeezed her left hand.  “That's what I intend when it's time for me to marry.”  His mouth twisted in a rueful grin.  “And that's a lot closer now than it was yesterday.  Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Lan Fan nodded, a smile spreading across her face as she did.  “I think that is definitely the right path,” she enthused.  “The way things have been done in the past has caused more harm than good, weakening our country to the point where we are no longer respected by our neighbors.”  Her eyes started to sparkle as she went on.  “It would also be a perfect opportunity to forge a foreign alliance!  You could -”

“Iwannamarryyou.”  Ling’s words were mumbled but it was enough to cut off his companion.  His face darkened, assuming a shade of red to rival his formal court robes, before he swallowed once, then forced himself to meet Lan Fan’s eyes.  “I want to marry you,” he announced, loud and clear.

Face flushing, jaw dropping, Lan Fan couldn’t respond for a long, drawn out, agonizing moment.  She tugged her hands free from his and clenched them together, twisting them against each other.  The silence continued to stretch until Ling felt himself shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting like a little boy.

“Say something.  Please,” he finally broke the quiet, imploring.

“What do you want me to say?” Lan Fan whispered.

“Well, ‘Yes’ would be preferable to most anything else,” Ling joked, despite his laughter sounding strangled by the tightness in his throat.  Then what little breath he had left caught as he saw the tears in her eyes.

“How can I say yes?” Lan Fan asked as tears slipped down her cheeks.  “You’ll need a political marriage to cement your position, not a marriage to one of the lowest ranking members of your own clan.”  She inhaled a shaky breath.  “You can’t risk your future position like this,” she concluded, taking a step back and bowing before turning to leave.

Ling caught one of her hands before she could reach the door.  “What I need,” he began, voice low and thick with emotion, “is someone who has always supported me, has guarded my back through thick and thin, and understands what I want to do for our country.”  He tugged on her hand, bringing her close enough to press their foreheads together.  “I can’t think of anybody who fits all of that better than you.”  One corner of his mouth twitched in a lopsided smile.  “Then there’s also the fact that I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember and was kind of, maybe, hoping you felt the same?.”

Lan Fan’s answering laugh was a little watery, but still beautiful.  “You are an idiot,” she declared with a smile.  “Do you think I would have stuck around all these years if I didn’t love you?”  She sobered a little bit, though, before continuing.  “I still think this is not the best idea, politically.”

“I’m done with caring about how things look, politically,” Ling responded, sounding heated.  “If the lowliest citizen of Xing deserves personal happiness doesn’t the emperor?”

“Future emperor.”

Ling rolled his eyes.  “If you insist on being pedantic I may just call this whole thing off.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Is that a yes, then?”

Lan Fan nodded, squealing in happiness as Ling picked her up and swung her around with an exultant shout.  “I am at my emperor’s command, after all,” she averred when she got her breath back.

“Future emperor.”

“You just had to say it, didn’t you?”


	5. Hohenheim & Trisha

Whatever he had expected about the afterlife this was definitely not it.

Well, except for the bright, white light everywhere.  Hohenheim imagined that was a universal concept of “heaven”, and since he could barely remember any of the religious beliefs from his long ago life in Xerxes he wasn't going to argue the point.  But the rest of it – what appeared, and sounded, like an enormous train station – was so outside of anything he had ever imagined.  There were plenty of people milling about, many of them mirroring the shocked and confused expression that was probably on his face.

“Pssst.”

The unexpected sound of a human voice startled Hohenheim; none of the people surrounding him had spoken a word since his arrival.  He was looking around, trying to pinpoint the source, when he felt a tug on his pant leg.  He glanced down and met the eyes of a young boy – barely more than a toddler – who was looking up at him with a wide grin.

“You have to get on a train,” the boy said, shocking Hohenheim with how articulate he was for his age.

He smiled.  “How do I know which one, though?” he asked.  It was a necessary question; he had absolutely no clue what to do to get wherever he needed to be.  It was also his pleasure to ask, because the boy's face lit at the opportunity to educate his elder.  “There's a lot of trains here.”

“You just have to think about where you want to go and the right train will come,” the boy replied with a nod.

Hohenheim looked around the space; most people were on the move but a fair number had the appearance of permanent fixtures..  “If it's that simple why do some people stay?” he questioned.  “Why do you -”  He bit back the rest of that sentence, not wanting to give offense to the boy who was being so helpful.

The smile didn't fade but the eyes went a little distant.  “Some people don't want to move on, they'd rather wait here for loved ones.  Some don't want to be reunited with not-so-loved ones.  And a few, like me, don't have clear enough memories of their lives to think about where they want to go.”

“I. . .  I'm sorry,” Hohenheim managed to stammer out.

The boy shook his head, dismissing the apology as unnecessary.  “It's not so bad,” he said, shrugging.  “I don't mind waiting for some of my family to follow me here, and helping people like you makes the time pass.  I don't have to worry about hunger, or shelter, or really any other living worry.”

“How did you learn to speak so well?”

The boy laughed.  “I have very little to do but listen to everyone around me, so it really wasn't hard.  I've even gotten pretty good at identifying where someone comes from by the way they talk.  You, though -”  He pointed at Hohenheim.  “- are a mystery.”

“Where I come from isn't as important as where I've been, or where I'm going.”  He looked around the vast space.  “Just think about where I want to go, huh?”  He grinned.  “I think I can manage that.”  He bent down and extended a hand, waiting for the boy to shake it.  “Thank you for your help.”

After leaving the boy Hohenheim wandered in the direction of where the light was brightest, probably meant to suggest the giant, open end of a station.  As he walked he thought about where it was that he wanted to go.  He could never return to what had been his home; Xerxes was long a ruin and what mattered more were the people he had carried around inside himself for all those years.  Even though they were gone now their echoes remained, providing him with a sense of 'home' and family that he treasured.

But the more he thought about home and family the more he realized there was only one place he could go to find what he needed.  He crossed the platform toward the nearest track and bowed his head, eyes closed, and focused his mind on one thought.

_ Resembool _ .

The word barely crossed his mind when a train pulled in on the closest track, belching smoke and whistling as excess steam was vented.  The metallic grind of the wheels slowed to a stop, and then the door of the foremost passenger car opened and a conductor descended the steps.  He had a placard in one hand and reached up to the space beside the door to hang it, announcing the train's next destination.

_ Resembool _ , it read.  Hohenheim moved closer, waiting for the conductor to turn and acknowledge him.

“Good day, sir!” the other man exclaimed as soon as he noticed his companion.  “Are you the one who called us here?”

Hohenheim started; he hadn't realized it would be viewed that way.  But he nodded, glancing at the placard.  “I want to go to Resembool,” he firmly stated.

“Well, then, get aboard and we'll be there in no time.”

The conductor didn't lie; it felt like he barely walked down the aisle and taken a seat in the passenger car when the whistle blew to announce their arrival.  The landscape outside was familiar, with rollings hills dotted with sheep.  It was a sight he had always held close in his heart and mind after he had voluntarily left it all behind.

He'd left everything behind, but now he was back.  Back to stay, in a way that only eternity could confer.  He set off at a walk, leaving the train station and the village proper behind, making his way towards where he knew the house with green trim still stood.  The walk was pleasant, the weather like a perfect late spring day.

He slowed his pace at the base of the ridge; a part of him didn't want to reach the house, afraid that he'd find it empty.  The gate creaked as it was pushed open, just like it had always done in life, and then the door of the house opened, and. . .

“I've been waiting for you.”

Hohenheim jerked his head up and met a pair of green eyes that he had been dreaming about for years.  His  mouth dropped open as he attempted to speak, but the only sound he managed to emit was a strangled half-gasp, half-groan.

Trisha laughed and stepped right up to him, hands rising to his cheeks.  “You look different,” she said after her eyes traced his every feature.  “Younger, calmer.  Relaxed and free.”  She smiled, her hands pressing gently into his cheeks.  “Is this how you looked in your first life?”

With a start Hohenheim lifted his hands to his face, dislodging Trisha's touch.  The first thing he felt was the lack of a beard, then he didn't have to push glasses out of the way to touch his eyes.  “I. . .  I need to see.  I haven't. . .”

Nodding in understanding Trisha took his hand and led him inside the house – the achingly familiar house – to where a mirror hung on the wall in the entryway.  And the face that confronted him was indeed one from that long ago life; young, unlined, and happy.  He turned away from the mirror and wrapped his arms around Trisha, pressing their foreheads together.

“I'm home,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Welcome back.”


End file.
